#amiri of caro

[etjwrites]

Find the Word Tag Game

I was tagged by @akindofmagictoo to find: Presence, impose, grace, imagine TY!

From Amiri of Caro:

I have Disgrace:

The king's men stepped away from the disgraced thief, and the crowd began to disperse, parting enough for Amiri to catch the other's eye when he lifted his head up, tear-filled gaze beseeching the departing onlookers. “Please,” he mouthed, stretching out his remaining hand. “Help me.”

I very much struck out this time 😭. Tis to be expected, as I'm only 3k words into this WIP.

Tagging: @klywrites @adie-dee @leave-her-a-tome @sheabutterskyes to find:

Void, shrink, ruthless, stoic.

[rsrvs]

Hey, it may be random but do you have any book recommendations? I've just read your post about Ka. I have this unwritten rule, that I always wanna hear recommendations from people, who hold certain personas, that I also do, to such a high regard. The more books, the better.

much luv

Thank you sincerely for this question. I’m usually all over the place with books, similar to how I absorb music. Right now, I’m finishing The Power Broker by Robert Caro but here are a couple books I read this year:

Those Who Saw The Sun by Jaha Nailah Avery

Rap, Hip Hop and The New World Order by Keidi Awadu

The Tao of Wu by RZA

Black Music by Amiri Baraka and LeRoi Jones

The Streets Were Paved with Gold by Ken Auletta

Music Is the Weapon of the Future by Frank Tenaille

Dilla Time by Dan Charnas

The Joy of Drinking by Barbara Holland

LeBron by Jeff Benedict

Battle Royale by Koushun Takami

My brain is mush at the moment but those are just a few standouts off the top. A lot of times, I’m just revisiting my old Source and XXL magazines from 15-20 years ago and re-reading the editorials and cover stories. Puts time in perspective for me. If I think of any others, I’ll report back.

Thanks.

[etjwrites]

Ooh! I love that font!

Well I was just tagged in one of these and gave my answer for Thorunn, so here's the first line from Cancrizan; The Upturned City, which will be (someday) the first book in a series about Amiri of Caro:

They cut his hand off.

Tagging @jessicacaseyauthor @mvcreates @ardawyn @assassin-writes @gaslightwestern

I was tagged by @writersloth in this lovely post to share the first line of my WIP. 

I would share the first line from  A Pool of Peony, except I don’t really have one yet (it’s in a messy first draft phase). 

So instead, have the first line of my almost completed project, The Mist Keeper’s Apprentice. You can find out more about here on my WIP blog, @esbarrison-wips!

I tag @etjwrites @adie-dee @abalonetea and whoever else wishes to partake <3 

[pangeanews]

“La poesia è l’intera storia del cuore umano su una capocchia di spillo”: da Leonardo Da Vinci a William Faulkner, passando per Wislawa Szymborska, Umberto Saba, Charles Bukowski, Joyce Lussu, cronaca dei tentativi – lirici & maldestri – di spiegarci cos’è davvero la poesia

Che cos’è davvero la poesia?

Leonardo Da Vinci ebbe a dire: “La pittura è una poesia muta, e la poesia è una pittura cieca”. E come ciechi sembrano davvero brancolare nel buio tutti i più grandi poeti davanti a questa domanda, a dimostrazione che la poesia può tutto, tranne spiegare sé stessa.

Wislawa Szymborska, forse la più grande icona poetica mondiale contemporanea, non si avventurò a definire la poesia nemmeno in occasione del discorso per il Premio Nobel. In quel 7 dicembre 1996, giorno in cui la piccola poetessa polacca balzò dal suo modesto bilocale di Cracovia alle cronache del mondo intero, si limitò a dire che qualunque cosa fosse l’ispirazione nasceva da un grande “non lo so”. E quando negli anni Cinquanta curava una piccola rubrica letteraria su una rivista locale, alla precisa domanda di un lettore la poetessa preferì citare il collega americano Premio Pulitzer Carl Sandburg: “La poesia è un diario scritto da un animale marino che vive sulla terra e vorrebbe volare”.

*

Altra rara e preziosa conferenza venne registrata nel 1967 ad Harward, quando per ben sei lezioni fu invitato il grande Jorge Luis Borges a dirimere la questione. Ovviamente senza mai arrivare a una conclusione univoca, e rifacendosi come tutti in larga parte a citazioni altrui: “Il sapore della mela non sta nel frutto né nella bocca che lo assapora: serve l’incontro e il contatto tra i due perché la magia avvenga, così è la poesia”, disse citando prima il vescovo George Berkeley per poi ricorrere alle parole di Robert Louis Stevenson, celebre autore dell’Isola del Tesoro, per il quale “le parole nascono per un uso normale, quotidiano, ma il poeta le trasforma in elementi magici capaci,” disse citando a sua volta Coleridge “di creare un’alchimia tra chi legge e chi scrive: una volontaria sospensione dell’incredulità”.

Tutto un intreccio di metafore, insomma, perifrasi e allegorie perché, ammette Borges, in fondo noi “sappiamo cos’è la poesia e per questo non sappiamo definirla con altre parole, come non possiamo definire il gusto del caffè o il colore giallo, il significato dell’amore o dell’odio”. E per analogia cita in conclusione Sant’Agostino: “cos’è dunque il tempo? Se nessuno me lo chiede, lo so; se voglio spiegarlo a chi me lo chiede, non lo so”. L’unica vera concessione che Borges fa riguarda sé stesso “per quanto riguarda me, mi reputo uno scrittore. Cosa significa essere uno scrittore? Semplicemente essere fedele alla mia immaginazione”.

*

Tema, questo della fedeltà a sé e ai lettori, molto caro anche a Umberto Saba, il quale scrisse nel 1911 per “La voce” un articolo che però la rivista rifiutò, poi ritrovato tra le carte del poeta e pubblicato solo nel 1959: “Quello che resta da fare ai poeti”, afferma secco e perentorio nel testo, “è fare la poesia onesta”. Quella grande onestà e trasparenza che non mancò mai ad Alda Merini, poetessa nostrana per eccellenza: “il poeta è sempre lontano dall’impossibile” disse, ma soprattutto visse, scrivendo ancora “la casa della poesia non avrà mai porte”.

Altrettanto sfuggente fu Giorgio Caproni, in una altrettanto rara apparizione pubblica avvenuta il 16 febbraio 1982 al Teatro Flaminio di Roma. “Il poeta è un minatore” disse per poi rifugiarsi anch’egli in una citazione: “è poeta colui che riesce a calarsi a fondo in quelle che il grande Machado definiva «le segrete gallerie dell’anima»”. Riferendosi al paradosso per cui tanto più il poeta si immerge in profondità nel proprio io, tanto più si allontana da ogni autoreferenzialità, perché è in quella profondità vera che si cela l’universale. Ma meglio che con le parole, come spesso accade, anche Caproni se la cavò in poesia:

Buttate pure via ogni opera in versi o in prosa. Nessuno è mai riuscito a dire cos’è, nella sua essenza, una rosa.

*

In generale, più i poeti sono grandi, e più tendono a descrivere l’immensità della poesia come qualcosa di molto piccino e fragile. “La poesia è l’intera storia del cuore umano su una capocchia di spillo”, diceva Faulkner. Così pure Charles Bukowski, che oltre a essere scrittore irriverente e scandaloso fu poeta dolce e sorprendente, riferendosi alla sua scrittura diede forse una delle definizione più belle: “La poesia dice troppo in pochissimo tempo, la prosa dice poco e ci mette un bel po’. In ogni caso io godo nel minacciare il sole con una pistola ad acqua”.

Definizione che ricorda la bella e fragile sfrontatezza dell’amico Franco Arminio: “La poesia è una lucciola alle due del pomeriggio, è un mucchietto di neve in un mondo col sale in mano”. Non meno ironico e profetico seppe essere il grande Pier Paolo Pasolini quando sentenziò: “il capocannoniere di un campionato è sempre il miglior poeta dell’anno”.

Altro aneddoto gustoso ci arriva da Valerio Magrelli nel suo audio libro Cos’è la poesia?, scritto in forma di abbecedario poetico, che in conclusione cita Roman Jackobson: “In Africa, un missionario rimprovera i fedeli della tribù che si ostinano a girare completamente nudi. E tu? Ribattè uno di loro indicando il viso del missionario. Non sei anche tu nudo in qualche parte? Certo, replicò lui, ma questo è il volto! Al che gli indigeni risposero: ma in noi dappertutto è volto”. Così è la poesia, dove ogni elemento ha la stessa importanza di tutto l’insieme.

*

Persino i rivoltosi, i poeti rivoluzionari, gli antipoeti, finiscono per accomunarsi con i poeti mainstream nell’impossibilità di definire la poesia fosse pure per darle contro. È il caso del cileno Nicanor Parra, considerato un genio da intellettuali come Harold Bloom e Roberto Bolaño, nel ’54 pubblicò un libro fondamentale per tutta la letteratura ispano americana dove teorizzava il concetto di “Antipoesia”, termine da lui coniato in polemica con i Pablo Neruda e altri poeti dell’epoca, nella quale respinge ogni registro alto e situa la poesia nel quotidiano, inserendovi il lessico dei mass-media, facendo uso dell’ironia e della parodia, e accompagnando spesso le sue liriche con disegni e opere grafiche: “La poesia muore se non la si offende: bisogna possederla e umiliarla in pubblico, poi si vedrà cosa diventa” scrisse inserendo i versi tra due cosce di donna oscenamente aperte. Impegnato politicamente contro ogni regime, tra i suoi versi più dolenti sul ruolo dei poeti certamente ci sono quelli contro ogni repressione: “La tortura non dev’essere sanguinaria: a un intellettuale, per esempio, basta nascondere gli occhiali”.

Accanto a lui viene in mente il grande poeta rivoluzionario americano Amiri Baraka, attivista e icona della rivolta afroamericana. Per lui fare poesia significa assumere su di sé il dolore del mondo per poi trasformarlo: “È quello che Keats e Bu Bois chiedevano ai poeti di fare: portare Verità e Bellezza. Illuminare la mente umana, dare luce al mondo. Poetate!” esortava invitando alla pratica poetica come a una vera battaglia.

Concetto quanto mai attuale che sarebbe piaciuto tanto a un’autentica rosa rossa della poesia, con la quale concludiamo il nostro viaggio: Joyce Lussu, compagna dell’antifascista Emilio Lussu, ma soprattutto poetessa riscoperta troppo tardi grazie al lavoro di una giovanissima Silvia Ballestra che a metà anni ’90 per Baldini & Castoldi raccolse diciannove conversazioni incise su nastro. Joyce Lussu rompe una convenzione non da poco: parlare male degli altri poeti, senza peli sulla lingua. “I poeti andrebbero divisi in due categorie: quelli che hanno dato tanta noia al fascismo da essere schedati e combattuti come pericolosi sovversivi, Nazim Hikmet, Garcia Lorca, Agostinho Neto, Guillen, Ho Chi-Min,Marcellino Dos Santos, e quelli che al fascismo non hanno dato nessuna noia o addirittura ne sono stati accarezzati come Saba, Montale, Quasimodo o Ungaretti, del quale andrebbero prima rilette le poesie e poi il viscido discorso che fece quando fu accolto nell’accademia fascista”.

“I veri poeti”, conclude Joyce Lussu, “sono quelli che ci rendono un po’ più intelligenti, non soltanto per osservare la realtà, ma per parteciparvi attivamente. Un vero poeta non canta la rivoluzione: fa la rivoluzione cantando. E per rivoluzione intendo anche i piccoli gesti quotidiani. La vera poesia è forza liberatrice”.

*

E non ultimo, anche per chi vi scrive in queste colonne, piccolo tra i grandi, la poesia resta un mistero. Mi piace però pensare che sia nata la prima volta che un essere vivente si è inchinato a raccogliere una conchiglia non perché servisse a tagliare, cacciare o coltivare, ma solo perché bella. Facendo della poesia un bisogno necessario proprio perché in grado di elevarci oltre lo stretto indispensabile. Insomma la poesia è nata “la notte in cui l’uomo ha iniziato a contemplare la luna, consapevole del fatto che non era commestibile”, come dice il poeta rumeno Valeriu Butulescu, o se preferite, dato che alle citazioni altrui non si scampa: “dunque un poeta è veramente un ladro di fuoco”, come disse Arthur Rimbaud, forse il più grande, che a soli vent’anni aveva già detto tutto e tutto piantò per avventurarsi in un lungo viaggio senza ritorno nel cuore dell’Africa e dell’umanità, dove al posto delle parole si mise a commerciare in armi. Tragica metafora.

Luca Gaviani

L'articolo “La poesia è l’intera storia del cuore umano su una capocchia di spillo”: da Leonardo Da Vinci a William Faulkner, passando per Wislawa Szymborska, Umberto Saba, Charles Bukowski, Joyce Lussu, cronaca dei tentativi – lirici & maldestri – di spiegarci cos’è davvero la poesia proviene da Pangea.

from pangea.news https://ift.tt/2YprYc5

[etjwrites]

Last Line Tag

I was tagged by @catharticallysarcastic so here goes! (Thanks!)

This is from my new WIP -- technically an old WIP, but I'm actively working on it now that I've finished my Afallon first draft -- Placeholder title "Dark Hoods."

Amiri closed his eyes, focusing until he could feel himself becoming one with the shadows around him, and melted into darkness.

Tagging: @zmwrites @akindofmagictoo @leave-her-a-tome

[etjwrites]

Find the Word Tag

I was tagged by @zmwrites & @leebrontide (thanks!! Tagged back if you want) to find: Cool, Thread, & Up

These excerpts are from my Amiri of Caro WIP:

Up

The king's men stepped away from the disgraced thief, and the crowd began to disperse, parting enough for Amiri to catch the other's eye when he lifted his head up, tear-filled gaze beseeching the departing onlookers.

Cool, Thread

Jannes scooped up the coins, gone cool since being hidden from the sun, and stood. He turned away from the thief, then hesitated, and looked over his shoulder. “Why don't you take a walk into the desert?” he suggested, threading his voice with his Gift. “Perhaps the jackals will find a use for you.”

New Words: Hearth, Spool, Gate, Run

Tagging @akindofmagictoo @ardawyn @adie-dee @leave-her-a-tome

[etjwrites]

🤔

Thanks for the ask @leebrontide ! (From this Ask Game)

What's the inspiration behind my WIP

Currently I have two WIPs I'm actively working on, The first book in the Amiri of Caro series, and the first book in the Tiana of Have Lath series.

Both of them are inspired by my first novel, Tedenbarr of Have Lath (read for free with kindle unlimited), as Amiri is a character in TOHL whose backstory I wanted to dig into a lot more, and Tiana's story is an AU based on the premise of "what if" such and such a character was at this place at that time, how would the story of TOHL be different.

That being said, Tiana's story very much favours the waif/thief adventure trope, and leans heavily on Robin Hood inspirations, but focusing on the lassies, and Amiri's story has a lot of puzzle adventure/tomb raider/Indiana Jones vibes with a fantasy twist in a desert country setting.

Both novels are still in their infancy, but I'm enjoying how it's going so far. 😊

[etjwrites]

And now for something different!

A while back I participated in the very first @yourocsbackstory event and had a blast! I completed a bunch of prompts and fleshed out quite a bit of backstory for a future WIP centered around Amiri, a character known as "Light-Fingers" in my published novel, Tedenbarr of Have Lath.

You can find all the rebloggable versions of the filled prompts here and I've just uploaded (edited) versions to Wattpad.

My favourite section is the one titled "Friends." It still makes me tear up every time.

Happy Reading!

[[MORE]]

@nintendonianrose

[etjwrites]

Your OC‘s Backstory - Week 7: Friends

@yourocsbackstory

Who were your OC’s friends, when they were young? Was it a group or a single individual? Where are they now? How did they meet, and - if they didn’t stay that close - how did they part?

Well, I've already found a way to include cameos or mentions of Iset – Amiri's best non-family friend – and Yakov – his little brother, whom he loves more than anyone else in the world, so today's answers and prompt focus on Amiri's ex-friends, and the moment he realised that they never cared about him.

He met these former friends at school. More details/answers in the prompt!

Not quite strictly following the prompt, but I figured it was close enough, so enjoy!

“The cane if you please, boy.”

Amiri's face burned, but he got up from the bench and fetched the bundled reeds from their place in the window. Slow, halting steps took him to the front of the classroom. He held out the cane. “Are you trying to lessen your punishment?” The school master indicated Amiri's linen-bound hands. “No, sir.” Amiri unwrapped them, but even at his slowest, the cloth dragged and pulled at the welts from the day before, re-opening the barely healed wounds.

The soft plink, plink of blood dripping to the floor was lost among the mocking whispers that arose from the other boys.

Boys Amiri had once called friends. Boys whose brothers hadn't been left fatherless, forcing them to stay home some days when their mothers were healing sick people at the school, working desperately to keep their sons in school.

Each strike of the cane upon Amiri's open palms brought forth another cruel laugh, another taunting jeer – callous words that the school master did nothing stop so long as their parents' abundant coin kept lining his pockets. Ten strokes, then twenty and Amiri could bear it no more, snatching his palms back amidst cries of, “coward!”

“Feckless worm!”

“Can't take a caning like a man. It's only your hands!”

“Your insolence will get you whipped, boy!” “You know I had to stay home yesterday because my brother was ill. I saw you read the note from my mother,” Amiri said. His hands throbbed, staining red right through the rags.

“As admirable as your dedication to family is,” the school master said, “you've no excuse for not knowing the answers when called upon – hire a private tutor.”

Ah, and with what money? What they had would last Amiri until the end of this schooling season, no longer. He'd already asked Anul and Julius and Iton for help with the work, and they'd all laughed in his face, like they were laughing right now, as the school master indicated between the whip and the door. Amiri looked at the whip.

At his bleeding hands.

At the scrolls that held so much knowledge – a chance for him to rise above his station and be respected when he was a man grown. The whip would be painful, but at least it wouldn't cripple his fingers. Fingers that could barely hold a stylus because of the swelling.

“I'll take the whipping,” he started to say, but Julius cut across him.

“Father says it was money earned of the blood of dead men that got you here. How can you seek knowledge when your hands are stained with it?”

.

Amiri stumbled along the dusty streets of Caro toward home. Yakov happily tumbled into him when he opened the door, and he played with his little brother until he heard the quiet footsteps of his mother.

“Amiri! Your hands! Did the school master not read the note I sent with you?”

Amiri let his silence speak for him. His mother folded her hands gently over the bandages.

“I'll speak with Julianous in the morning. His son can help you catch up when you have to miss a day.”

Amiri shook his head. He swallowed again and again, trying to stymie the grief that was manifesting as a tight blockage in his throat.

“Julius h-hates me. His f-father too. I'd not be w-welcome there. He's the re-re-reason I'm, I'm, I'm–” His mother looked at him. Really looked at him. Took in the wraps that hadn't yet stopped seeping. Saw the untouched lunch she had made for him on the table. The empty space where Amiri normally set his tablet and stylus after copying out his glyphs in the wood. Her voice became as soft as the touch of her hands.

“Amiri, where are your school things?”

Amiri burst into tears.

Part 1 (Introduction) Part 2 (Family) Part 3 (Activities)  Part 4 (Rivals) Part 5 (First Love) Part 6 (Things) Part 8 (Free/Birthday)

[etjwrites]

@elaynab-writing Thanks so much for thinking of me! 🥰

(Just to clarify, I have one published work (Tedenbarr of Have Lath) one main WIP (Thorunn), and some sketches of a future WIP which can be found under my "Amiri of Caro" tag.)

I must recommend:

@igotablankpage - who has an amazing WIP, and never ever gives up on writing despite her hectic life and all the challenges that come with juggling writing and being a mom.

@sheabutterskyes - who's really moved me with some of the exerpts from Costs Of Arishore, and has some really interesting worldbuilding.

@theliteraryarchitect - who has written an awesome book about self-editing for writers and routinely gives away much of that fantastic advice for free. Just an amazing resource and all around knowledgeable and helpful person.

@caspianvinson - who did possibly the hardest and bravest thing an author can do after getting published, which is listen to critical feedback, go back to the drawing board, and rework his novel into something even better than before.

There are so many more of you, and I urge everybody to check the notes on this post if you're searching for more awesome people to follow!

let’s share some love today! I want you to recommend your favorite writeblr’s using this post. tell everyone why you love their blog’s so much!

[etjwrites]

Your OC‘s Backstory - Week 6: Things

@yourocsbackstory​

Is there a thing, or an object, that your character will take everywhere they go? What is said object? And what’s the story behind it?

Amiri doesn't usually carry a lot around with him – he can usually come up with whatever he needs at the moment he needs it. That being said, there is one thing...

Wow this one got so long - I’m almost sorry it’s the backstory and not part of the actual series!

Iset burst in upon Amiri just as he was attempting to redress Yakov after his bath. Needless to say, the four year old took advantage of the interruption and dashed off, leaving Amiri holding his clothes in one hand and the raggedy linen towel in the other. Annoyance replaced Amiri's initial joy at seeing his best friend.

“Look what you did! What brings you here anyway?”

“Servant's day off.” Iset said, pressing her steepled hands to her temple in apology. “And I've got just enough coin to purchase something good at market!”

“Iset. Stop wasting your hard earned marks on me.” Yakov peeped around the corner, and Amiri dove for him, managing to get the wriggly child into his tunic.

“Her ladyship always gives me extra, and if you don't accept them, I'll just spend the marks on toys for Yakov.” She signed the last part, and Yakov perked up, running over to her and looking in all her pockets. “I don't have toys with me,” she signed to him after his lower lip started to wobble dangerously, “but we'll get some soon!” She turned to Amiri, “Won't we?”

Amiri blew out a sigh, and slipped on his sandals. “We have to, since you went and made him that promise. 'S good thing Auntie Marta's home today, or you'd be going to market by yourself while I spent the better part of an hour soothing a screaming Yakov.”

Amiri liked Iset, he really did, but sometimes she just didn't think things through. Or maybe she thought them through too much, considering how suspiciously well she always managed to get him to go along with her whenever she had a free day. But Amiri couldn't deny the appeal of a Yakov free afternoon.  

“You're not going to be a soldier again today, are you?”

Iset shook her head, careful not to smear the dark kohl she was lining her eyes with. Before his eyes, she transformed into someone else, a voluminous headscarf she must have borrowed from her mother the last piece of the ensemble that changed her from Iset, serving girl, to a noble lady of Caro.

“They'll wonder what a woman of your presumed stature is doing with someone like me.”

“Can't you make their eyes slip away from us?”

“For myself a few moments, certainly. For a whole afternoon? For two people?” Amiri bit his lip. “We'll probably get caught.”

  .                                    

And of course they had, because Amiri had showed off a little too much, despite Iset warning him to hold back, and the strain had become too much, a Dark Hood lurking about the marketplace spotting Amiri at just the wrong moment. They'd managed to flee, hiding in the shadows behind a potter's stall, but the man was still out there, brazenly ignoring the guards as he searched for them.

“Can't you go out there and pretend to be one of them, and get him to stop so we can escape? Or at least accuse him of something so the guards will act?”

Iset turned wide eyes on Amiri. She looked rather like an owl, what with the way the dark powder had smudged around them. “I lost my box of kohl when we ran between that bread seller and the jewel lady! I can't go out there like this and hope for the best without it.”

Amiri vaguely recalled the stalls Iset meant. But they were on the other side of the market – in the state Amiri was in, going back that far risked capture by the Dark Hood.

“What if–” He looked at the much closer well dressed ladies who paraded down the streets with their bodyguards or husbands or sons. Iset clutched at his arm.

“Don't you dare, Amiri. We'll find another way out of this. You're no good to Yakov with only one hand.”

“It won't come to that.” Amiri leapt up, darting out of the shadows before Iset could stop him, losing himself in the crowd. The sounds of the market suddenly seemed so much louder, more frantic even, than when the Dark Hood had chased them. Their pursuer still stalked the edges of the market, but Amiri crept through the bustle in a crouch, hiding behind rustling tunics, large palm fronds, and bristly donkeys. So long as they concealed him, he could conserve his strength for what was about to happen.

Careful not to stray too far from Iset's hiding place, he stepped close to one of the ladies. As predicted, she stumbled right over him, and Amiri rushed to help her up, distracting her with the stream of apologies he kept up until she was safely back on her feet. The Dark Hood dashed over at the commotion, but too late, Amiri had already sought the safety of the shadows and returned to Iset where he proudly displayed his ill-gotten gains.

Iset had to apply the black powder three separate times, her hands shook so badly, but finally the last of it was daubed on, and they stepped out into the sunlight, a noble woman accusing the Dark Hood of stealing – of all things, her eye powders – and her silent shadow, concentrating on concealing only himself while he let Iset's pompous tone rouse the guards to action. To their delight, the real victim also arrived at the scene, adding her shrieks and accusations to the clamour, and in the confusion, Iset and Amiri slipped away.

But not before stopping at a small bazaar at the edge of the market.

“You wanted to me to use your money for something, right?” Amiri ignored all of Iset's protests and paid the man for two small boxes of kohl identical to the one he'd temporarily lifted from the noble woman – who they could still hear ranting about the theft despite the fact that Amiri had surreptitiously slipped the box back in her pocket before he and Iset fled the scene. He offered one box to Iset, stowing the other securely inside his tunic.

“Let's call this surety against that situation ever occurring again.” He produced a bag of sweatmeats with his other hand. “I didn't forget about Yakov either – let's just hope he accepts these instead of toys.”

Iset winked at him as they left the market and drew forth a small wooden camel. “Least I could do after all the trouble. Next time we'll be very boring, I promise.”

Part 1 (Introduction) Part 2 (Family) Part 3 (Activities)  Part 4 (Rivals) Part 5 (First Love) Part 7 (Friends) Part 8 (Free/Birthday)

[etjwrites]

Your OC‘s Backstory - Week 4: Rivals

Just answering a couple questions for this one, cos we're starting to get into spoiler territory ;) But here goes!

@yourocsbackstory

Has there been a rival in their past?

Yes, and this same rival is the main antagonist of the series – actually it is not one rival, but several, comprising the group we'll call the Dark Hoods for now.

What was their conflict about?  

The Dark Hoods are basically an kidnapping/extortionist group with a side of terrorism thrown in. Amiri's first encounter with them is when he rescues Iset and the noble girl she serves from a kidnapping attempt (described in part 3). Ever since then, the Dark Hoods hold a grudge against Amiri, and he has to constantly look over his shoulder.

Prompt | Write about a scene in their past, where the rivals face each other!

Set several weeks after Amiri's first close brush with the hooded kidnappers in part 3:

“Come out, you little thief!”

Amiri pressed further into the shadows, but it was no use. The brief moments the Dark Hoods had caught sight of him had been enough to show them his hiding spot. They could still feel around for him, even if they couldn't see him. Still toss out and ensnare him in an inescapable net. They'd see him then surely, after they'd dragged him out into the harsh noonday sun. He knew he shouldn't have lingered so long near the edge of the noble district. But he wouldn't have been able to meet with Iset otherwise. Her lady stayed inside these days, wary of another kidnapping attempt – and rightly so, else Amiri wouldn't be tucked behind a stack of stone blocks, trying not to breathe so those selfsame kidnappers wouldn't hear and discover him.

A flat, open expanse bisected by several bridged canals lay between him and the rougher, grittier part of Caro that Amiri called home. A thin opening where the blocks did not quite touch allowed Amiri to look out across the dry flatlands. Only two men stood on the other side, robes the colours of cinders long burnt down. Perhaps they hadn't expected to see Amiri here. Perhaps Amiri could outrun them. He would have to leap like a gazelle from his hiding place and fly like the wind, hoping against hope that the men's Skills were far removed from anything physical. A vain wish, considering the sort of vagrants the Dark Hoods recruited to their ranks.

The men came closer to the blocks, but all Amiri could see of their faces were their eyes, dark and searching. When the closest man spoke, it was like honey poured slow over a flatcake, warmed atop an oven.

“You cost us a great deal by stealing that little girl away from us. We might have let you go had you only freed the serving girl, but by liberating her noble mistress as well you've condemned yourself.”

Footsteps moved toward Amiri, then stopped, the dust settling as the men's heavy cloaks swished into stillness.

“But we are yet merciful. Willing to forgive. We can teach you how to fully realise all the gifts your Skill can bloom into. Return with us, and we'll put this matter behind us. We swear on our honour as Dark Hoods.”

The words sounded good, and Amiri had to fight hard to shake them off. The man's Skill seemed not to be physical – indeed he wielded something far, far worse, making a ludicrous thing sound reasonable, and Amiri squeezed his eyes shut and thought of Yakov and mother, who were waiting for him. He couldn't take even a single step in the hooded men's direction – he had to flee!

His hand cast about till he struck some pebbles, and he tossed them as far away as he could, the resulting soft noises diverting away the Dark Hood's attentions as they turned to investigate the source of the sounds. Amiri waited, holding his breath until the men had stepped just far enough away that he could dart out of his hiding place and not court instant capture. And run he did, racing toward the sandstone buildings of inner Caro, thinking only, “See my shadow, see just my shadow,” over and over again. The Dark Hoods whirled around, spitting angry curses at having been tricked, pushing themselves to apprehend Amiri before he reached the safety of the inner city's walls.

The closest man grabbed at him and missed, and a fierce joy at outwitting a Dark Hood, even in broad daylight lent speed to Amiri's steps. A second grab tumbled him to the ground. A foot heavy on his back forced him to the sand filled dirt. Cold steel bit into his throat.

Desperate, Amiri yelled, “Father, he's killing me!” and for the briefest of moments, his assailant looked up, as if expecting to see Amiri's long departed sire. Amiri wriggled away, pulling the man's hood up over his face as he did so, throwing all the dust and dirt he could manage at the second man, causing him to stumble over his cloaked companion, halting their pursuit long enough for Amiri to regain his feet, and flee again towards succour.

This time the men could not close the gap between them, no matter how hard they pushed themselves, and Amiri reached the open gates with tears of relief flowing down his cheeks. The Dark Hoods took one glance at the guards, who suddenly stood to attention, and made themselves scarce. The Raohaph himself might not care if they roamed the dry, sandy stretches between Caro's collapsing middle and it's gleaming outer edges, but that didn't mean his soldiers would turn a blind eye when men with so high a bounty on their heads approached Amiri's home.

Those same guards cast a warning look at Amiri, not a little irritated that he had brought trouble so close to their doorsteps, but Amiri took advantage of the bountiful shadows cast by the intricately patterned walls, and in moments, they saw him not.

Trouble indeed he had brought upon himself by saving Iset and her lady, and for the time being, he must not visit them but at dusk, when the light was low, and the shade abundant. His steps from now on must be lighter than ever before, and he resolved never to take the same path home twice – the Dark Hoods were not to be trifled with. But at length, they would lose their anger at him, and move to some other unfortunate who had caught their ire.

At least Amiri prayed for it with all his heart, for life as an enemy of the Dark Hoods would be short and the end unhappy, and while Yakov and Mother still depended on him, Amiri could not let that happen.

Part 1 (Introduction) Part 2 (Family) Part 3 (Activities) Part 5 (First Love) Part 6 (Things) Part 7 (Friends) Part 8 (Free/Birthday)

[etjwrites]

Your OC‘s Backstory - Week 8: Free (or: Birthday)

Ah, I can't believe we've reached the end already! I've read so many neat WIPS by all you lovely people participating in this. I've thoroughly enjoyed it, and if @yourocsbackstory​ is up for it, I think it would be fun to make this an annual/semi-annual event. (Also, Happy Birthday!) :D

Thank you so much for hosting this – I've learned SO MUCH about Amiri and now have a very clear plan of where to take his story once I start formally outlining it.  

*hugs everybody*

Good Luck with your writing endeavours!!! I used my own personal prompt (transportation) and combined it with “Birthday” for the final installment. ;) Without further ado:

Iset swept open the door, and Amiri tumbled into the dust, sprawling flat upon his face in a clumsy failure at stealth. He still didn't quite have the nuances of his Skill perfected, and creeping unseen across the open plains from Outer Caro had used up what little energy the blazing sun hadn't scorched away.

So Iset saw him plain as day with sand and grit and grass all clinging to him, a stinging scrape on his forehead testifying loudly about his ungainly stumble.

“Are the beetles that interesting?” she called, making her way over to him. Amiri spat out the chaff that left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“I was trying to see the camels – you said they'd be whelping today!”

“Aye; they're in this stable.” Iset beckoned to the wall opposite the one Amiri had fallen from. “But best keep quiet – these are his lordship's racing camels, and we don't want overseer Nerron to catch us peeping.”

They stole through the narrow opening in the limestone wall, Amiri wrinkling up his nose at the foul stench. Iset had drawn up her scarf to her eyes. She motioned to a rope ladder, and Amiri scrambled up it after her, crawling along a narrow ledge until they were just over the grunting cows. One calf had already been born and cleaned off, and it lay mostly still, twitching at random intervals, while it recovered from its trying ordeal.

“Plet ka was going to buy us a camel,” Amiri whispered. He wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable on the hard surface. “Now we can't even get a lame donkey.”

“He didn't send you his horse?”

“Mother says it must have perished with him on the battlefield.” Amiri peered curiously at the men clustered around one of the other camels. They yelled at each other, each taking turns tugging on the limp calf that was half-way into the world. “D'ya reckon they'd notice if one were missing?”

Iset smacked Amiri, then froze as a shower of dust drifted down at the action. But the men below them were too preoccupied to look and notice the two sets of dark eyes peeking through the gaps in the rafters.

“You'd be thrown in the deepest dungeons the city guard could manage if they caught you! No, worse, they'd send you to the fires of the Black Mountains.”

Iset's tone implied that Amiri had sounded just serious enough to worry her, but surely she knew he wouldn't dare steal from one of the most powerful nobles in Caro? He quickly reassured her otherwise, and they lay in silence for the better part of two hours, grins stretching from ear to ear, as one by one, the little newborn camels staggered to their feet and began to suckle, bleating and snuffling through the whole process.

“It's weird, but wonderful.” Iset kept her voice low, even through the men had left some time ago.

“Weird, but wonderful.” Amiri agreed. “Like our friendship.” That earned him another boff to the head and he backed away, laughing as Iset swatted at him. They tip-toed out of the stables and parted ways at the wall Amiri had initially fallen from.

“Tomorrow at noon?”

“Wouldn't miss it.” Then he clambered over the smooth stone and set his face on dusty Outer Caro, Iset disappearing back into the house toward her chores.

Part 1 (Introduction) Part 2 (Family) Part 3 (Activities)  Part 4 (Rivals) Part 5 (First Love) Part 6 (Things) Part 7 (Friends)

[etjwrites]

Your OC‘s Backstory - Week 5: First Love

@yourocsbackstory

Who was their first love?

Amiri's first love is his best friend, Iset. Given that Amiri is about 14 at the start of the novel proper, and that we are exploring his backstory, he hasn't actually fallen in love with her yet! He falls in love with her after he and Yakov and Iset all flee Caro to escape the menacing Dark Hoods.

Are they still a couple?

Alas, Amiri's love is unrequited. He suspects Iset knows that he has feelings for her, but she never shows any signs of reciprocation, and his feelings are too new and confusing for him to act on them, especially when on the run, so [SPOILERS?] they never do end up becoming a couple.

How has that love influenced their life?

This is the one area in Amiri's life where his natural impulsiveness finds restraint, which does cause him to put on a little more bravado in other areas, as any teenage boy might do when trying to impress a girl he is too tongue tied to confess his feelings to.

The prompt inspired piece below focuses on a brief interlude between the action that takes place somewhere in the middle of the first novel:

The flickering campfire cast Iset's face in warm tones. They were just high enough in the Black Mountains that Amiri had dared to gather and light a small amount of kindling, enough to keep the three of them warm at night. The blankets didn't quite provide all the heat Yakov needed, and Amiri was scared to death that he'd wake one day and find those little hands colder than they should be. His brother dozed against Iset, a comical sight with his mouth hanging open, limbs contorted into seemingly impossible positions. Amiri's neck hurt just looking at him.

He drew closer, and Iset looked up at his approach – somehow she always heard him coming despite how quiet he made his steps, but then, he never really tried to hide himself from her. Three months they'd been away from Caro, and each day Amiri found himself more and more grateful that the dark haired girl had left with him and Yakov. He settled down next to Iset and the slumbering child, carefully transferring Yakov to his lap so that Iset could stretch her legs. She didn't have to watch over him while Amiri was off making sure that no one had followed them to their current hiding spot, but she did anyway, putting up with all of Yakov's changing six-year old moods with the grace of someone far older.

And somehow each day, the fondness he felt for her grew beyond friendship – grew to something that he didn't quite know how to name. Or was afraid to. Iset had given up so much for them – what was he supposed to do, go up to her and say: “Dearest Iset, my chest feels like a swarm of locusts are trying to escape every time you smile at me?” How would she feel then, travelling under the knowledge that she captivated Amiri's thoughts at all hours of the day? That so many times he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, keep it enclosed within his?

He couldn't burden her with the extent of his feelings, not when she had nowhere to go if his affections made her uncomfortable. And selfishly, he needed her. He couldn't spill the innermost thoughts of his heart and have her leave him and Yakov to run from the Dark Hoods by themselves. Iset made the long, gruelling days on the road a bit more bearable, and he couldn't open his mouth and ruin the easy companionship they had with ill-timed words. Yakov would miss her too – he had just gotten over the worst of missing Mother – Iset leaving would break him.

No. In this one thing, he would hold back. Amiri smiled at Iset as she returned and pulled their blankets snugly over the three of them.

“Worked out the pins and needles?”

Iset grinned, rubbing at her legs as she got comfy again. Her hand found its way to Yakov's soft curls,  stroking them in a repetitive soothing motion.

“I love Yakov, but he's as heavy as several large sacks of grain when he's asleep. Can't really complain though, it's so rare that he sleeps the whole night through these days.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead then burrowed in closer and closed her eyes. Amiri wrapped an arm around the both of them.

This at least he could have.

Part 1 (Introduction) Part 2 (Family) Part 3 (Activities) Part 4 (Rivals) Part 6 (Things) Part 7 (Friends) Part 8 (Free/Birthday)

[etjwrites]

Your OC‘s Backstory - Week 2: Family

I really enjoyed this week's theme – it actually helped me to flesh out Amiri even more than before and generated a whole lot more back story that I'm looking forward to sharing over the coming weeks!

 @yourocsbackstory​

Which member of their family (including found family) are they closest to?

Amiri's most beloved family currently consists of his mother, little brother and best friend Iset. His father's been gone a long time and probably isn't coming back. In fact he's been gone so long that he was declared dead and his mother remarried. His little brother is the person in his family he's closest to. This is due mostly to the fact that their mother is a nurse who is always working, and it has fallen on Amiri to take care of Yakov.

Whom could they do very well without, thank you very much? Why?

Amiri's auntie, Marta. Ever since the war of the five kingdoms, Amiri has been taking care of Yakov on his own. Marta was supposed to help out when mother is at the medical school, but Marta is never around, instead choosing to pursue her own interests. In a culture where you are supposed to greatly value your own children or that of your close kin, this is an unforgivable crime in Amiri's eyes.

And how did their family influence their character?

Amiri is fiercely independent, grown used to being the oldest man in the family, and is very protective of his mother and his little brother (moreso because Yakov was born deaf). This protectiveness spills over to his best friend and any other waif who is alone in the world, as he hates people who neglect children, and will go out of his way to see abandoned children to a safe place.

Prompt | Write a situation with either one of those extremes that shaped who your OC is today!

“Mother?” Amiri called, slipping off his shoes at the door.

She didn't answer, and Amiri noted that all the lamps had yet to be lit. He cocked an ear, listening for Yakov as he made his way to the back of the house where the kitchen was. But he didn't hear the happy babbling of his little brother, not yet any response to his repeated calls. His steps grew faster, and he burst into the kitchen, hand pressed over his heart as if that could contain its fearful leaps.

“Mother!” She sat at the table, head buried in her hands, a letter on the table in front of her. The broken seal was Plet ka's –  like all the letters that came from him, a small sack of money accompanied the short missive, silver marks spread glistening across the table. More than Amiri had ever seen come back with the letters. Amiri may only have passed eleven summers, but he knew that much money was the equivalent of three months worth of mercenary wages. Plet ka had only been away for one.

Amiri put his small hands on Mother's face and tried to get her to look at him. “Mother, what's wrong – where is Yakov?”

She pointed under the table. Amiri crouched low and was met with the solemn stare of a child who, not understanding why his mother wouldn't hold him, or at least let him play with the shiny circles, had cried himself into a fit and then gone silent, sensing that something was terribly wrong. Amiri gathered up the curly haired child. Little arms fastened tight around his neck, a soft sigh breathing hot against his ear as exhausted sobs burst forth a second time.

Mother took one look at Yakov's tear streaked face and began to weep again herself. It was then that Amiri noticed that her long beautiful hair had been shorn off at the shoulders, intricately braided coils lying en masse at her feet. He knew then what the letter said.

“Amiri,” Mother began, stopping to wipe the wetness out of her eyes. “You're the man of the house now. Without the money Plet ka was sending us, I'll have to stay all day at the school. You must take care of Yakov until I can make arrangements for Auntie Marta to come live with us.”

“But he's too little to come to class with me.” Even as he spoke the words Amiri's heart sank. He'd started his education a year later than the other children, and still had so far to go to catch up. Taking care of Yakov would make that an impossible dream – if he even could attend anymore. The way Mother's body shook in distress, he could guess the answer without her saying it.

“Just for a few weeks, darling. Not longer than the flooding season, I promise.” Amiri hoped so. He hugged Yakov closer to him and embraced Mother. For a few weeks he could do this one thing. He could be the strong tree Mother leaned on, the wall that kept Yakov safe.

Part 1 (Introduction) Part 3 (Activities) Part 4 (Rivals) Part 5 (First Love) Part 6 (Things) Part 7 (Friends) Part 8 (Free/Birthday)

[etjwrites]

Why do I currently have more names for the villains in the Amiri of Caro series than the heroes!??